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Psst, Jorah the Andal.
The spider sends his greetings
and his congratulations.
A royal pardon you can go home now.
Virzetha gizikhven! Mra qora! Mra qora!
My son already has his name, but I'll try your summerwine.
Just a taste.
My Lady, you are from Westeros.
You have the honor of addressing Daenerys of the House Targaryen,
Khaleesi of the riding men and princess of the Seven Kingdoms.
- Princess. - Rise.
I'd still like to taste that wine.
That? Dornish swill.
Not worthy of a princess.
I have a dry red from the Arbor
nectar of the Gods.
Let me give you a cask. Uh a gift.
You honor me, Ser.
The honor the honor is all mine.
Huh-uh, huh-uh.
There are many in your homeland that pray for your return, princess.
I hope to repay your kindness someday.
- Rakharo. - Huh.
- Is something wrong? - I have a thirst.
Open it.
The wine is for the Khaleesi. It's not for the likes of you.
Open it.
Pour.
It would be a crime to drink a wine this rich
without at least giving it time to breathe.
Do as he says.
As the princess commands.
Sweet, isn't it?
Can you smell the fruit, Ser?
Taste it, My Lord.
Tell me that that is not the finest wine
that has ever touched your tongue.
You first.
Me?
I'm afraid I am not worthy of the vintage.
Besides, it is a poor wine merchant who would
drink up his own wares.
You will drink.
- Khaleesi! - Stop him!
Come.